Savior
by ktswaz
Summary: (Timeline) Dame Claire think back on her afternoon as she prepares to die at the hands of the English!


She was going to _expirir _there was nothing anyone could do. How she wanted to cry but she would never give her _ennemi _the satisfaction of discovering her fear. How did he know of the battle or her capture? He knew and he tried to prevent it. Thinking of the stranger made her heart ache. But why? Why did the thought of never seeing him again fill her with such despair? He was handsome, kind, valiant, and brave. Her enemies were preparing to fight with her brother and their people. She prayed that her pending death would not be in vain like so many others. She depised death and killing, but unfortunately it was necessary for her people to live in peace. So that generations to come would not have to live in fear of the_ Anglais_. Her _Mere _who had died years before had told her when she was quite young that she pitied the English. She had scoffed. But her mother forged on undeterred. Saying that she felt sorry for them because they wander in search of things therefore never contented. As much as she desired to disagree with her. The words rang true she admitted begrudgingly. The tiniest part of her may pity her country's invaders, the larger wished she could watch Oliver and De Kere die a slow painful death Her only conciliation is that she will Maman and Papa once more. No she didn't fear death, she quailed at life not yet lived. All of her life she dreamed of a husband who loved her, children born out of that affection, a home safe and happy. That is why she fought so fiercely along side her beloved _frere. _Amour was the dream she chased. She laughed inwardly she thought of her afternoon. She had argued with Arnaut to let her go into Castlegard _grace a Dieu _he let her. At first glance she thought he was _beau. _His affect on her while they were together in the fox hole was calming. When the _foutrement_ English soldiers found her he didn't think twice before defending her. Killing the _Anglais encule_ to save her. Weather bitter cold river water to see to her safety. Emotion bubbled in her chest as she replayed their conversation. It had flattered her that he was so interest in her and not Dame Clare. But Clare the young woman. Now she wished she hadn't used their language barrier to her advantage, pretending she didn't understand his words. The Scots were queer. Courtship was termed as 'seeing' each other. It caught her off guard his questions after all, they've only a little over an hour prior. She felt safe with him. Not because he was Scottish and their learned hatred rivaled _le_ _Francais_. Or because of his earlier actions. It was something deep inside of her knight in shining armor. He seemed thunderstruck when he found out her name. She hadn't known that her name had made it across the Channel. Then _les Anglais_ attacked and once again without care of his own life he went to rescue Arnaut's man. Maybe that's when she fell in love with him. In love? Minutes away from death she realizes she was _amourex. Dieu_ _doit etre penir elle. _What transgressions had she committed? His tender kiss still burned on her lips. Dame Clare fell harder in love with Andre Marek when she begged him to stay but he refused insisting that he had to find his friends in the _remue-menage_ that _le Anglais_ brought with them. She watched him depart on his borrowed horse with an appropriated weapon with a heavy heart. Saddened knowing she would never see him again. If the _Anglais_ didn't get him which she prayed that they didn't, he would go away. Never to think of her again. Adieu, my gallant protector! She bade the fleeing figure. Whispering that he took a piece of her heart with him. If Arnaut had known her thoughts he would have laughed at her. His term of endearment had always been _Mon Petit Songuer_ And so she stood in between _Anglais_ _Malfrats_ _reve_ of a stranger and the life they could have had together. Now she wanted to cry! She'll never be a mother. She will never nestle her sons and daughters to her breast. Nor have a wedding day much less a wedding night. She was thankful for the cover of night so that her _ennemi_ couldn't see her blush. Her anger and hatred seemed to boil over.

No one ever told her that one starts to hear voices when one is so near dying. Because she could and would have sworn she heard the velvety voice of Andre Marek. He must have died earlier today and has come to take her to _ciel_. No, he was alive. Joy flooded through her veins instantly warming her petit body. There he was once more saving her. A smile could not be suppressed. How _completement _handsome he looked in the night. His emerald eyes glowed with determination in the task at hand. Her own eyes mirrored only relief and love. So God wasn't cruel, after all. Thank you Lord Almighty for sending Andre back to me! There was such an explosion, it threw her and her captors backwards on to the catwalk. When she scrambled back to her feet; she could not find him. God wouldn't return her hero only to take him away again. The ropes among her feet forced to sit once more. Her mind screamed his name over and over again. The panic she bottled up came pouring out. At the touch of an unknown assailant she shrieked. She disliked being so afraid. Then his soothing yet husky whispered. "It's alright. It's me." Tears of triumph as well as reprieve traveled their path downward. Their happy reunion was cut short by the arrival of the blasted De Kere. She looked on helplessly as they battled. Oh Lord please guard Andre, she pleaded to their Creator. Her prayer must have been heard because she gathered enough courage to look it appeared as if Marek had the upper hand. Then it was over De Kere was dying. She fought her way to his side. When she was mere inches away, her gorgeous warrior she flung herself in his waiting arms. Giving thanks to God that he saw fit to keep she adored safe. A voice yelled from below, she hated the owner of that voice he wanted to spirit Andre away from her. They exchanged words she didn't listen to, her head reeled. They must have directed her savior to rummage through the clothing of the dead body. He found what he sought and threw to his comrade. He then said the words that she would carry with her until the day she dies. "I am home, Chris." He reflect her love. He certainly didn't mean France she knew, he meant her. He watched his friend go before kissing her gently. It was filled with love, promise of things to come, and relief of finding someone to love and be loved by.


End file.
